


A Little Trouble in Paradise

by dicktrickle



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, ask to tag, but not really, more like hate jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicktrickle/pseuds/dicktrickle
Summary: In which there's an argument, a little trouble in paradise, and how Hanzo can get pretty petty in his revenge.





	A Little Trouble in Paradise

“Go fuck yourself, Hanzo.” He didn’t trust himself to keep a level head during the argument, and he knew with that last exclamation he had failed entirely.

He sat in silence as Hanzo stood up, too calmly to not be angry, yet too quickly to be anything but hurt. He averted his eyes as the other man walked in front of him on his way out of the common room, the weight of each of his steps heavy in McCree’s ears. Chancing a look, he caught the sight of Hanzo’s tense back, perfect posture as was the norm, arms crossed behind his back, two middle fingers prominently pointed in his direction. Hanzo’s own discreet _fuck you too_ , but classy.

In that moment, McCree knew he was fucked.

 

* * *

 

Three days. Three days and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Hanzo since the argument. His first instinct had been to chalk it up to a sudden emergency mission, but after politely checking the roster, all agents were present and accounted for on base for the last uneventful week. He could be angry with the man all he wanted, but he still cared for his well being above all else, it was _not_ an admission of anything else his mind tried to throw at him.

He had tried other subtle ways to check up on Hanzo’s status without outright going to the man, but came out empty handed. No amount of misdirection or casual conversation with the other members on base could get them to talk about Hanzo, the man’s icy nature seemingly off putting to just about everyone with the exception of the man’s brother and himself. Still, McCree tried to find anything out, if only to ease the crowing of his conscience that he had royally fucked up.

Whether intentional or not, McCree felt Hanzo’s absence more than he felt his anger, and he wasn’t sure which one stung more.

Retiring to his quarters, McCree ruminated over the argument over and over again, something he had done since the last words had fallen from both of their clenched lips. Surely, an argument as benign and _pointless_ as this one would not have the power to ruin whatever good thing they had going on, but with three days of dodging each other, avoiding each other, the tension was thick and palpable. He only hoped that in some way, they could overcome the mess they made for themselves and move on with their lives, together.

The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up the moment he closed his front door.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary at first glance, but he knew something was wrong, something had been tampered with. Two deep breaths and a thorough scan of the room later he released the tension from his body, deflating from the stress and undue anxiety. Deeming his room safe from any infiltration, he moved to the en suite bathroom, ready to wash away the stress, grime, and guilt of the day.

The television had turned on during his shower, sitting ominously in the still empty room.

McCree clenched his prosthetic fist in the towel around his waist, holding it to himself tighter as he tried to see or hear the presence of another. Before he could finish his inspection, an image burned onto the screen, an empty room, similar in design to his own. He didn’t move as the image came into more and more focus, a livefeed from the looks of it, the current date and earlier time blaring bright in the corner of the screen.

The camera must have been propped up near the ceiling, its angle capturing the full extent of the bed and the wall behind it, but not much more. He peered around his own room, trying to figure out where and how a camera could be attached in order to get that specific angle when a motion on the screen caught his attention.

 _Hanzo_.

Emerging from what must have been the bathroom, Hanzo walked into the room-- _his room_ , if the minute decorations have any indication--towel draped over his shoulders and hips, hair matted down from the excess water. McCree could only stare, dumbfounded, stuck watching the screen as he tried to think of just _why_ he was receiving a livefeed of Hanzo’s room on his television, and who would have the know-how on how to do such a thing.

The screen blacked out before he could think on it more, and the image that returned left him speechless, but for another reason entirely. The timestamp on the bottom corner of the screen had changed to the current time, _18:37_ , a true livefeed at that point, and Hanzo was apparently deep in the throes of rapidly approaching orgasm.

The camera angle had changed minutely, squaring in on the bed, cutting out the view of the surrounding walls and floors. _Hanzo_ , sweet, unmerciful Hanzo, lied flat on his back, two of his own fingers shoved into his mouth while his other hand formed a tight ring and _squeezed_ the base of his straining cock, stopping the orgasm dead in its tracks. He sobbed against his fingers, his chest jutting out as he panted to refill his lungs, eyes twinkling with unreleased tears of self-imposed frustration.

McCree felt the grip on the towel tighten, the fibers of the towel snagging in joints and empty spaces in the metal. The video before him had no sound, but he _knew_ , he could feel every sound that fell from Hanzo’s mouth on the screen before him, could recognize the mewls of pleasure and angry grunts of distress of not cumming when he was supposed to, could feel the phantom touches of every strained breath Hanzo panted against his own neck.

The towel in his grip ripped, its pieces falling on the floor, looking no less defeated than he did at the moment.

All at once, monitors behind hidden panels revealed themselves along his walls, each one showcasing Hanzo in another position, another step in the sequence of his masturbatory habits: Hanzo on his front, hand reaching behind himself to finger and pull at his own rim, leaving it puffy and red and glistening; Hanzo licking a stripe up one of his favorite dildos, hollowing his cheeks against it as he swallowed it down, down, _down_ enough to form a bulge in his throat; Hanzo, hair matted down from sweat instead of water, bouncing up and down on the dildo he was shown sucking in an adjacent screen, sweat visibly dripping down his back and chest; Hanzo taking it on his back, on his knees, legs propped up against his headboard, one leg thrown up as he pistoned the toy in and out of himself in a frenzy, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm, eyes screwed shut, biting his lips enough to bruise, mouth falling open--

Every screen went black at exactly the same time, the residual burning image of Hanzo’s O face quickly fading, faster than McCree hoped-- _hoped?_ \--it would.

The chime of his comm forced him to breathe, breaking out of the cold sweat and frozen stance he took after staring at the monitors mindlessly, reluctantly willing them to display their show once more.

He reached for the comm laying on his bedside table, ready to mark whatever message as _read_ as quickly as he could to tend to the pressing need jutting out from his hips, when he stopped short as he looked at the name of the sender. His fingers stumbled over each to press the message _open_ , uncaring and unwilling to think just _what_ Hanzo could want from him in a time like this-- could he even know about the cameras? The show?

A video loaded up as soon as the message opened on his comm, the sound of Hanzo’s deep, grating baritone sounding even deeper, more strained, almost hurried--

“ _Go fuck yourself, McCree_.”

And the final scene of the show displayed itself on the comm’s screen, Hanzo cumming over himself, a final ‘ _fuck you’_ whispered on his lips as he stared directly at the camera.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooo _that_ was um. It was something else.  
>  Let me know what you think!


End file.
